


my little inchworm

by loopunderground



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Family Feels, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28843554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loopunderground/pseuds/loopunderground
Summary: Her contact details sat open on his phone screen, begging him to go through with it and yet he remained sat, motionless, his fingers numb and full of static. Would she know who it was when he spoke to her? For how long? At what point would she start to talk about her brave son Elliott Witt who competed in the Apex Games, at what point would she start listing his own achievements back to him, like he was a stranger she’d bumped into at the market.OR: Elliott finds his phone and tries to deal with the emotions that come with that.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40





	my little inchworm

**Author's Note:**

> i was planning to give myself a small break until i started writing my next miragehound and then respawn went and gave us back the voyage with That voicemail and i have never sprinted to a google doc faster in my life
> 
> and then i saw [this](https://twitter.com/Nurbzwax/status/1350191762053230605/photo/1) beautiful art by nurbz and i knew what i had to do
> 
> this is a bit different from my other work, so i hope you guys like it!
> 
> warnings: descriptions of blood, canon typical violence, grieving

_Two and two are four, four and four are eight,_

Everything ached. Medical had already cleared him hours ago before they’d put him, and the rest of them back on the dropship headed for home, but his bones still felt so heavy, his body weary with exhaustion. He’d fought for his life today and lost. They’d all been so excited to be back on familiar grounds for a short while, for as thrilling as the Olympus arena had been, there was something oddly comforting about the Canyon. Things had been shaken up when they’d lost Thunderdome, and the loss of it had hit him and Gibby the hardest. Nobody else had seemed to care that much, but Elliott had shared a knowing look with Makoa and together they’d mourned a place that had held so many memories for them. But for the most part, the Canyon remained the same, and Elliott had been so looking forward to running on sand again, seeing actual grass and not whatever it was they used over on Olympus, and hearing the rush of the waterfalls all across the arena. And most importantly he’d been so ready to see his ship again, when he’d found out that the games would allow him to keep it there for a while he’d been elated, hoping to try bring some fun and excitement back into their matches and spice things up a bit.

He hadn’t expected…

_Eight and eight are sixteen, sixteen and sixteen are thirty-two,_

There had been no question about where they were landing as they started to fly over the drop zone. Path was kind enough to give him jump master especially, and with adrenaline rushing through him, he’d leaped from the dropship, guiding Path and Renee to the Voyage. Initially everything had been a breeze, they’d managed to secure it with very little issues. Another squad had dropped with them, but they were nobodies, and had the unfortunate luck of not picking up the first few weapons. A couple of well aimed wingman shots and soon enough Elliott was starting off the game with three kills under his belt, and an announcement that he was the kill leader. It was unlikely the team he took out would be respawned, and Elliott felt a pang of pity for them but very quickly pushed it away; that was how the games worked, he’d long since come to terms with that. 

(Thinking about them later on the dropship, he realised that he didn’t even remember what their faces looked like. The guilt that rushed through him was stronger than it usually was.)

It had been such a strong start that had given him all the confidence in the world. The three of them geared up with everything they could find, and Elliott had begged Renee to let them stay a little longer and let him wander around his ship and make sure nobody had messed it up. She’d rolled her eyes and allowed it since they weren’t too far from the next ring and with a wink and some finger guns he’d eagerly scoured the deck to make sure everything was in working order. They’d been about to leave when he’d stumbled across his phone, laying on the couch. How strange it was, in hindsight, to think about how relieved he’d felt, since he’d been wondering where on earth he’d lost it. How quickly that relief had faded when he saw the missed call.

_Inchworm, inchworm, measuring the marigold,_

After he’d been cleared by medical he’d rushed back to the dropship and wandered around until he’d found the empty storeroom that he was currently sat in. Usually most of them hung out in the common area after a match, laughing with one another and making sure there were no lingering grievances. Would they be looking for him? Did any of them care? Renee was probably still a little pissed at him for how the rest of the match had gone. Not that he could blame her. If he could ever bring himself to move he’d go and find her and apologise. Flowers hadn’t worked last time but maybe-

_No,_ he thought, _don’t think about flowers right now._

The storeroom was cold, the metal bench he was sat on noticeably biting. Not enough for him to actually move, but every so often a chill ran down his spine. By that point he wasn’t sure how long he’d been sat in there. An hour? Maybe two? The others were probably celebrating, congratulating the winner. He wasn’t even sure who won, hadn’t bothered to check. Probably Hound, they had been especially happy about being back on the Canyon. They’d not explicitly stated their fears to him about Olympus, but he’d overheard them talking to Loba and felt ridiculous for not realising the heights would freak them out. Hound had always been very hesitant to admit any of their own insecurities or fears, so he wasn’t surprised they hadn’t brought it up with him, but he made sure that whenever they were placed on the same team he took them far away from the depot, or anywhere else where you could look directly over the edge. 

Thinking back to the match earlier, he hoped it was Hound that took him out. If it was, he could thank them later for doing him a kindness. They would probably be concerned, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the fact that he lost, that he died, about anything that had happened that match. He couldn’t bring himself to care much about anything at all. 

_You and your arithmetic, you'll probably go far..._

When he’d finished listening to the message back on the Voyage, he pocketed his phone and joined the others, flying over to Skull Salvage and taking out Revenant and Bangalore, who had been licking their wounds from another fight they’d just emerged victorious from. Elliott didn’t know what had happened to their third, but the two of them went down fast, unlucky to be caught out injured and unprepared for another fight so soon. He didn’t even know who got the kill credit for them. Everything felt a little blurry around the edges, like he was having sun stroke. They pushed on, killed more, his jumpsuit becoming more sullied with stains with each group they came across. The unmerciful ring continued to close, the competitor numbers dropped one by one, until hours later when there were only three other squads left, and Elliott knew they’d reached the final battle of the match. They’d ended up in High Desert, with the sun burning down on them, and sand scorching beneath their feet, stuck between a team taking shots at them from the walls outside Bunker, and a team with snipers perched on the watchtower close to Airbase. Distantly he was aware that Renee was trying to form some kind of plan for them, but his ears hadn’t stopped ringing since he’d listened to that call. Six kills under his belt. Blood staining his hands. Those people’s deaths meant nothing. He just had to keep moving, do what he was there to do.

Someone took a shot at them, hitting the rocks they were crouched behind. Was that a kraber? Longbow? The three of them scattered in a panic, knowing they were too out in the open, and Elliott dashed into one of the buildings, his heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with being shot at. He pushed through the building, trying to come to his senses and work out where the others had gone, but when he rounded the corner he was met with an explosion of gas, immediately clogging his throat and seeping its way into his lungs. It burned, scratched away at his windpipe like acid and he blearily stumbled out of the building again, trying to catch his breath and desperately look around for his team. Was Path down? There was noise over the comms but he couldn’t work out what anyone was saying. Bullets hit the wall next to him and he frantically sent out a decoy in a random direction. Where had Renee gone? She couldn’t be down as well, that was her voice in his ear. But which building had she hid in? Had she managed to portal out? 

_Inchworm, inchworm, measuring the marigold,_

The volt in his hands felt heavy, the phone in his pocket even heavier, and when he rounded the corner of one of the next buildings trying to find his team, he came face to face with Caustic, who immediately blasted away most of his shields with a shot from his mastiff. Blindly he fired his own weapon, most of the bullets missing their mark, and in a panic he activated his decoy escape, hoping desperately that Nox wouldn’t catch onto which one was him. But luck was not on his side this match. The next few blasts from the scientist’s shotgun had shredded through the remainder of his shields and embedded in his side, whilst he stumbled and tripped in the sand to get to cover. Whoever was sniping from the top of the watchtower managed to snag some of his decoys, he watched them fizzle out of existence as they ran about in various directions. He quickly threw a thermite behind him as he jumped over a wall for cover, in a desperate attempt to buy himself some time to heal before Caustic inevitably came and pushed him. He pressed a hand to his side to assess the damage and quickly realised that there wasn’t going to be enough time to pop a syringe before he’d be fighting again. With this in mind he quickly pulled a shield battery from his backpack, his bloody hands slipping on the mechanism as he tried to activate it. The wounds in his side ached fiercely and he urged the battery to move faster, as the sound of footsteps started to get closer and closer.

Just as he heard the telltale sound of his shields being recharged, any remaining faith that he had of surviving slowly shattered and fell to pieces as he saw the gas grenade come sailing over the wall of his cover. He scrambled to his feet and sent out another decoy as he ran, running to avoid the worst of the grenade as it went off, but it spread far and fast and he was engulfed by the sickly yellow cloud regardless. His eyes burned as he staggered out of it and tried to get his bearings, knowing that with his health as it was before the grenade went off, it would take absolutely nothing to knock him. When his vision started to become clear again he saw Caustic, in all of his terrifying, sadistic stature emerge from the gas cloud, no longer wielding his mastiff but a carbine instead, and firing at him with terrifying accuracy. 

It had been pointless getting the battery off when his shields were immediately obliterated again, and Elliott’s last hope was that the bastard would have to reload eventually and that would give him a window to try get his own shots in, but evidently the scientist must have found a decent extended mag because he did not let go of the trigger until Elliott was on the ground, coughing up blood as he went dizzy with pain. Caustic stood over him and Elliott wished it had been anyone else to knock him because he knew how this went, knew Nox was going to set off one of his stupid traps and watch as the tears streamed from his eyes as he started to panic, desperately trying to pull oxygen into his lungs whilst the sand stained crimson beneath him. His fingers dug frantically into the sand as he tried to drag his body away from the trap, not missing the way that Nox’s eyes narrowed as he let out a dark chuckle.

“Pathetic.” He heard him say, as the trap inflated and activated. Elliott thought he heard Renee shouting over the comms that she’d grabbed Path’s banner and was on her way to him, but he knew that there was no way she’d get there in time. He didn’t want her to save him. He was exhausted. Everything was starting to go quiet, even the ringing in his ears that had stayed with him persistently was beginning to finally die down. In the distance he saw the glint of a sniper scope before the loud crack of a kraber shot rang out, and suddenly Nox fell down in front of him. A second later another shot echoed across the sand dunes and Nox suddenly went still. But the gas was still surrounding him and he hoped that whoever was at the other end of the scope was kind enough to have mercy. _Please,_ Elliott thought, _please kill me. I don’t want to die like this._

Relief flooded through him when he saw the familiar glint in the distance, and before everything went dark, he swore he could hear his mother singing.

_Seems to me you'd stop and see, how beautiful they are…_

The brightness of his phone screen in the dark made his eyes sting. They’d made him shower after medical but he was pretty sure there was still dried blood under his fingernails. Didn’t have it in him to check though, hated the idea that he didn’t know if it was his or not. It was strange to think that match had been earlier that day. How many hours had he been sat in the storeroom? He didn’t know. Another cold drift passed through the room and he shivered, all the while the voicemail repeated over and over in his head. Usually the end of a match meant an opportunity to call her, she’d asked for him specifically this time, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Her contact details sat open on his phone screen, begging him to go through with it and yet he remained sat, motionless, his fingers numb and full of static. Would she know who it was when he spoke to her? For how long? At what point would she start to talk about her brave son Elliott Witt who competed in the Apex Games, at what point would she start listing his own achievements back to him, like he was a stranger she’d bumped into at the market. There was always such pride in her voice, and because of this he knew wholeheartedly that she loved him, that she was proud of him. But she could look right at him and not know who he was.

_Inchworm, inchworm, measuring the marigold,_

It was always her to bring up his brothers in their conversations. Never him. Because she could never remember what had happened to them, and it was him who had to carry the weight of that knowledge around with him. It made her so happy and he didn’t dare admit to her that it hurt to talk about them. It hurt back when they’d first gotten the news, it hurt when she could only remember them as children. But now… Now even their names were being forgotten. And he couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be until they were completely gone from her mind, their memories crumbled to dust and left to blow away on the wind. What then? What would he do then? He swore to himself that even if she did, he would never forget them. Never.

_Their names are Elon, Ricky and Rodger,_ he thought to himself. _Elon fell off his bike and broke his arm when he was thirteen. Ricky refused to eat sandwiches with the crusts on and Rodger always used to tear the sleeves off his shirts because he thought it made him look cool. Elon, Ricky, Rodger. They used to mess up my hair because I was the only one with curls and they’d make sure to ruffle it every morning at the breakfast table. Elon gave us all piggy backs and Ricky used to help me with my maths homework. Rodger used to fuss over making sure we wore gloves and hats in winter. Their names are Elon, Ricky and Rodger and they’re still out there. I’m not gonna let them be forgotten, they’re not dead, no matter what anyone says they’re not dead, they’re alive. You can’t forget them mom, they’re your sons, I’m your son, I’m Elliott, please don’t forget me too. You’re my number one fan, and I’m your… I’m your-_

The door to the storeroom slid open, the light spilling across the floor and illuminating where he sat on the bench. For a moment he worried that he’d have to explain himself, rush to plaster a smile on his face and pretend that everything was alright, but that worry passed immediately when he saw whose shadow fell in the doorway. He should have expected that they’d be the one to find him, since they were always able to track him down. But even without their abilities in that field, they simply _knew_ him, knew the shape and contents of his heart, knew him completely, thoroughly, in a way that no one else did; no matter where he went, how lost he found himself, they would always be able to find their way to him and guide him home. 

_You and your arithmetic, you'll probably go far..._

There was a long pause before the door shut again and he heard footsteps slowly approaching, before Hound sat down besides him. Their presence was immediately comforting, even though he wasn’t sure if he could talk to them about what had happened that day. No doubt they’d heard from the others about his strange behaviour that match, and if it was them who’d landed the final blow on him then they must have seen his haunted expression through their scope. How long had they watched him for? Would they be disappointed in him for being so distracted during a match? This was something they took very seriously after all.

“Elliott,” Bloodhound eventually said, in a quiet voice, “you do not have to talk about it if you do not wish to. I am not going to push the matter. I only need to know whether you wish to be left alone.”

No, he wanted them there with him. He’d been alone for so long now, and he was so cold. But Hound was so warm, they always had been, and he needed that more than anything. He shook his head in lieu of a reply, his gaze still focused on his phone.

“Alright. Then I will stay here with you.”

“For how long?” Elliott finally spoke, voice scratchy after being quiet for so many hours.

“For as long as you need, elskan.” They answered softly.

For some reason their words made everything feel that little bit more real, brought him back from the dream state he’d been in since he’d first listened to that voicemail and back to reality, but the numbness that had settled around him shifted with it and it suddenly it all _hurt_. Tears pricked at his eyes and a shuddery breath left his lungs as he turned to look at them, and he couldn’t see behind the mask but he knew that they didn’t look at him with pity, but with love and support and understanding. It made the tears spill over his cheeks and he looked back to the floor again, as he let himself finally feel the hurt inside him, the open wound that was his family, as his chest began to heave with sobs. Hound took one of his hands in their own and held it tightly, an anchor to keep him steady whilst he grieved.

_Inchworm, inchworm, measuring the marigold,_

He missed them so much. He missed Elon’s stupid jokes that were always so terrible, but somehow always made their mom laugh, he missed the way Ricky would go on and on about a movie he’d been to see even though it was clear no one else was interested, he missed the way Rodger had a new hobby every other day of the week and could never to stick at one thing at a time. They were his brothers and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d told them he loved them before they disappeared, and he didn’t know that he would ever get to tell them again. Did they know that he loved them? That every single day he woke up and felt the space in his life where they should be?

And more than anything, he missed his mom. She was all he had left and she was piece by piece fading away, just like his brothers. All he wanted was for her to look at him, with complete recognition in her eyes, open her arms to him and say “There’s my little boy,” as she held him. He wanted her to remember him. He wanted her to be okay. 

He didn’t want to be forgotten.

His shoulders shook as he sat quietly crying in the dark with Hound’s hand in his own. Grief was a terrible, aching weight that he spent so much time trying to keep at bay, but eventually it always caved and swallowed him up for a while, settled into his limbs and made him acknowledge the pain that he beared. It was not easy. It _hurt_. But at least with Hound there with him, holding onto him, he would not drown in it. Not today.

So he cried. And he mourned. And he remembered. 

Because he was the only one left that could.

_Seems to me you'd stop and see how beautiful they are..._

**Author's Note:**

> i am sorry that the miragehound is such a small part of this but someone needed to hold elliott's hand, i feel so bad for him ;;;;
> 
> comments are always greatly appreciated!! ^^
> 
> socials:
> 
> tumblr - [doubletaptrigger](https://doubletaptrigger.tumblr.com/)  
> twitter - [loopunderground](https://twitter.com/loopunderground)


End file.
